"It was the shortest letter I've ever written," Bronzan said. "I merely said, 'I wish my son would be like Dick Vermeil.' I thought that said everything."

Vermeil's first job was at Hillsdale High in San Mateo. He hit that field with the crackling brilliance of a lightning bolt. Bob Christopherson remembers it vividly.

"He was 24," Christopherson says. "I was a junior, about 17. There was an intensity about him. I kept a scrapbook, and I have a picture of him, right out there with us, no pads, showing us blocking techniques.

"We were picked to finish sixth or seventh in the eight-team Peninsula League. We came in second, and beat the team that finished first, Capachino.

"And that summer he worked on a football book. It ended up more than an inch thick and weighed over a pound. It had everything, from blocking drills, to how to line up in a huddle.

"We ran a multiple defense. I think he copied it from Alabama. We played seven league games my senior year and we only gave up a total of 20 points.

"The thing I remember best is the use of prayer. As a mental focusing device. I was the unofficial chaplain and I'd say the prayer before the game.

"Not to win. But to fulfill our potential, to avert injury on either side. Non-denominational. And it became a heavy emotional tool. There was always a tremendous amount of tears.

"I guess my ultimate memory is when we played Burlingame, just before the championship game, my senior year. Coach Vermeil had gone out and scouted them four or five times. We knew all the little keys and the defensive co-captains got index cards with the keys written on them.

"I remember, before the game, his wife, Carol, was standing near two glass doors. Dick began talking. He told us he had never played on a championship team. And here, next-to-last game, we had that opportunity.

"He got all emotional, started crying. You could see Carol crying. I just fell apart. I could barely get the words out for the prayer. And then he said, 'OK, let's go, let's do what we have to do.'

"We broke the doors down going out to the field. And we won, 46-7. And after the game, more tears.

"Then we played Capachino for the title. Two minutes to go, we're leading, 13-7, and they have the ball on our five. All they have to do is punch it in, and we lose.

"I could see Dick on the sidelines, looking up at some eucalyptus trees. And I said, 'Let's pray.' I called time out.

"The ref came running over, wondering what was going on. I'll never forget the defensive huddle, all of us with tears running down our faces. We stopped 'em dead. Eight guys pursuing the ballcarrier on every play."

Christopherson went on to Brigham Young, where football had the taste of ashes. He's a geography teacher at American River College in Sacramento now, but he still speaks with evangelical zeal of those Hillsdale High memories.

"His practices were keyed to five-minute intervals," Christopherson says. "They were intense, long, but not cruel or vicious. I remember he reluctantly let us call our defensive unit 'The Screaming Mutha's.'

"My junior year, San Mateo beat us, 14-7, in the third or fourth game. They outweighed us heavily. Most of us played both ways. I was the right guard on offense and a linebacker.

"And afterwards, he got on the bus. He said, 'I don't care what the score was...I'd go to hell for any one of you guys.'

"We cried openly. I sat next to a guy who told me, 'Gee, I haven't cried since I was a kid.' That one loss changed the whole season around. We were 'Vermeilized.' We knew he was in it with us.